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before the weekend began, it wasn't as if i'd made a conscious effort to avoid journalising the events of the past few days. it was more like a case of "if you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything at all." not that this is something that i've had a problem with in recent history. most every thing had gone "pear-shaped" up until i'd left the mindless feeding frenzy that my occupation has become, dimly receding in the rearview. and not a second too soon. an avalance of magazines... bottlenecking into a system on the brink of failure, snottily defended by the IT puke. how Smeagol-like, his shaky defense of his "precious". account managers crowding around pathetic excuses for crises... like the highway crew looming over the lone worker in a ditch. diminishing check account. the phone call from home telling me that the income tax return would be half of last year's (thank you, so much, for the "tax cut", Mr. "War" President). dead cars. Too. Much. Pressure. i'd forgone keeping up with the news for most of my meager time off, preferring to finally get my shit together as the days drew closer for my RockMarathon show. procrastination... probably my worst trait. putting off doing the research that i knew i'd have to do for far too long, i started sweating over the details on Monday. wanting to do as good a job for Jamaican musicians as the film StandingInTheShadowsOfMotown did for theFunkBrothers was going to take some serious digging into the books, the sites, the liner notes. spelunking the grey cells for things that i'd learned but let slip into the murk... this is probably what i've needed to find the inspiration that i've lost after twelve years of radio. it was going to be a good idea to get all this buttoned down before showtime, since my alternate had never had to endure the constant pledge calls, trade off with someone else on the console, do subtle pleas for contributions, and make it all seamless and interesting for someone listening. tall order. no stress there. instead, as soon as i awoke on Thursday, it was time for non-stop action. rewiring the cable and setting up broadband. running a phone line so the laptop would work on the coffee table. pulling out records impulsively. mounting wall racks. the whole scenario played out in temperatures pushing the sixties... on a day when you could almost hear the glacier recede. light at the end of this tunnel. as showtime approached on Friday, i was about to hyperventilate. "pumped up"... you could say that. it was one of those rare times when you could sense that interesting things could happen... the ice could break... you just might rock out of the rut. and, unexpectedly, there was the AstroGrrl back from NewYork... behind the mike, in the slot just before me. if i thought for a moment that i could live with myself after persuing this doe-eyed young lass, i would have done. but there is still a chemistry there... despite her six month absence. another one of those Brasilian saudade moments. two hours vaporise. money made. a reasonable attempt at making a musical statement. and a spark of hope. things that could be. renewal. exchanged attraction. a new day. the clouds swept clear. nice dreams, these. |
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